


Ballad of a Broken Soul

by Onionrings



Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Triggers, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-10 12:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13501406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onionrings/pseuds/Onionrings
Summary: Charlie has found herself alone in the world; dead set on killing the monsters who stole her parents from her. Her path is pure vengeance until HE stumbles into the arena and promises to keep her safe. That safety comes at a high price, now that the world is flooded in pandemonium.Will her path of destruction stay on course or will she fall prey to his madness?Will her secrets keep her safe or will they be her irrevocable downfall?*WARNING* This will be a dark fanfic.Internal dialogue in italicsTransitions in story notated with ----------------





	1. Intro

 “Well fuck”, I quietly tell myself.  I can feel the warm blood traveling down my leg, seeping from the stab wound on my thigh.  The weariness calls me; begging me to give in, but I refuse to let it take me.  I hear the men moving around, stomping through the leaves.

_Stupid assholes. How is it possible they have survived this long being **this** loud? _

Picking up a small stick, I breathe in deep and brace myself.  I set the stick between my teeth.  Biting down, I use a ripped piece of flannel from my backpack and tie a tourniquet.  The pain shoots up my thigh into my torso, feeling like I have been stabbed all over again. It took all I had not to cry out. I ball my fists to try to stop the shaking. Drool escaping the sides of my mouth.

_Breathe Charlie.  Breathe_

Chastising myself for being so negligent. I think; _How could I have let these morons sneak up on me? How could I have been so careless!?_  

I listen for them. I can hear their, god awful, mouth breathing as they clomp away in the opposite direction. Their racket only fuels my anger.

“Idiot” I mutter to myself.  

I carefully push my back against the bend in the large tree trunk.  Before I try to stand, I check again and can’t see the extent of the damage; which is terrifying.  I can feel the blood starting to stick the pants to my leg.  I make a mental note to self; once I deal with these two, move fast and start a fire. I need to cauterize my wound.  Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to do this during the last “who knows how many” years.  

For a moment my resolve falters and I feel a warm tear slide down my cheek.  Angrily, I wipe it away, refusing myself the break in weakness.  I check around to gauge the amount of blood I’ve lost. I sigh heavily and clamp my lips around the twig.  It is a lot and I have no idea how bad the cut is, but at least they didn’t hit an artery.  Despite it all, I have some strength and fight left in me.

As long as I take them out quickly.

For a second my mind drifts bringing me visions from months ago. My heart fills with hatred and I work my fist, opening and closing my hand.

I shake my head, escaping the flashback. I can’t think of the alternative. I can’t think of that time.  I refuse to be claimed again.

Once more, I grit my teeth and ensure the tourniquet is tight.  I grimace from the pain and pull the stick from my mouth. I let it fall silently to the ground.  Spit follows the twig, landing on my chin.  I wipe it away with the back of my bloody hand. I smirk slightly, knowing I must look like a wild banshee with blood all over my face. I hope I am a terrifying site to behold.

I can hear them venturing back toward me so I ready myself.  I know I have one shot. I need to make it count.  

I quietly stand, keeping my weight off of my injured leg.  I slow my breathing, a skill my mom taught me when I was young, not giving a thing away.  I close my eyes and listen.

I cross my arms over my stomach and I silently unsheathe my knives from their holsters at my sides.  

“Where the fuck did that little bitch go?” one of them whispered loudly.  

I hear a safety click. Then another.   _Ah, so they’re carrying. I will remember to take those from the bastard’s corpses. Thank you boys._

I listen to the rustle of clothing and dead leaves, pin pointing their places.  I know they have spotted my blood trail and have begun to follow it.  

They’re getting closer.  

I slow my heart rate, relaxing myself.  I raise my eyes to heaven; thankful for the years of training, from my parents, which has given me the ability to stop the shaking that comes with an adrenaline rush.

_Focus Charlie… Focus. Mom and dad deserve this victory._

They are getting closer, one more than the other.  The first one, the bigger one from the sounds of it, is coming around on my left.  

I inhale.  

Ready the blades.

Exhale.  

I slide out from the left of the tree, easily ducking his blow and letting my left blade slice across his gut.  His blood comes rushing out like a crimson waterfall followed by a revolting squishy sound as his intestines slap the ground.  

He collapses.  

Asshole number two tries to charge at me from the other side of the tree. I jump back quickly, parrying  his advance and jab my right blade into his thigh as he stumbles by.  

_KARMA bitch_

Suddenly I feel weak and my vision blurs slightly; I stumble forward but catch myself. I refuse to give in, shaking my head I try to clear it. Ugh, the pain is becoming unbearable and I know I won’t last much longer.

Discovering his unexpected advantage from my moment of weakness, he barrels in my direction. His shoulder connects right below my chest, knocking the wind out of me.

Everything goes into slow motion. I feel myself falling along with him on top of me. I gasp for air, unable to fill my lungs. As we fall I see his head pop up, followed by his arm, and the knife in his hand. He brings it up quickly. His blade grazes my cheek. It feels like a hot blade burning my skin. I push his elbow up with my left hand just before it hits my eye, the tip nicking my eyebrow. I can feel the blood trickling down my face and stinging my eye.

We collide with the ground and I lay there panting, one eye open. I move my right arm and am pleased to know my other blade had caught him, just under the ribs. I assume I hit his heart.  Pure dumb freaking luck.

He goes limp and I shove him off me.

I lay there, still gasping, trying to steady my breathing for I don’t know how long.  I feel so tired.  I just want to sleep.  

Darkness, he calls me. Like an old lover singing his ballad, he beckoning me to him.  I see his fingers slowly creeping in from the corners of my eyes, consuming my vision.  

 _I have to move._ _I have to move._

I can’t find the strength.  

My leg is covered in warmth.  It feels sticky and I taste metallic in the air.  I know my tourniquet  has come loose but I can’t bring myself to sit up and tighten it again.   

I gaze up at the trees and sky. I accept that this is it; I begin to let go. My body becomes numb and the pain in my leg eases.

I hear movement. Footsteps approaching. Listening for the curdling snarl of the walker, I close my eyes and wait for the bite to come.

_See you soon mom. Dad, I’m sorry._

“Well fucking shit, are you a little bad ass or are you a fucking little BAD ASS.  That shit was FUCKING AWESOME lil man.”  

His smooth, deep, velvety voice pulls me from my serenity of acceptance.  I try to focus on it, on him; willing myself to return from my void. I try so hard, but I can’t open my eyes.  

“Jesus Christ, those assholes were twice your fucking size and you laid. Them. The fuck. Out.”  A small snort leaves my nose at his comment and he laughs. It is such a sexy, yet dark, laugh.   

“Fucking hot damn, you still got some fuckin fight in you huh little fucker? I fucking LOVE it.”

I sense him crouching near me, feel him staring at me. I open my eyes slightly but can’t see straight, everything comes in and out of blurriness.

I can tell he is looking me over. I feel a tremble flow through my body. My mind begins to race, then crashes to a halt. I look up at the sky through the trees. Do I really care what happens to my corpse now? Does it really matter? I’ve lived for so long as a boy, hiding anything feminine about me to keep the rapists at bay. Who cares if he finds out my secret. My eyes close.

I feel my soul beginning to pull, almost like I am floating away. I envision I’m staring at a previous version of myself laying on the ground. The me before the fall. I look so young and peaceful and my heart yearns for that time.

Instantly I’m sucked back in. A pitiful scream escaping my lips has brought me back to my inner hell. My fucking leg. My eyes fly open. He tightened the tourniquet. Fire is coursing through my body. Our eyes clash. His hard and dark brown. A handsome face with furrowed brows greets me.

  _Will it ever stop? Please just let me go. There is no point in trying to stop it anymore. I am ok to go… mom…  dad…_

“Please, just let me go” the voice leaving my body is so unfamiliar. It is hoarse and I sound so broken. I close my eyes and let my head fall to the side.

“Shut the fuck up, you’re gonna bring walkers.”  He hisses into my ear. I hear a slight panic in his voice. The warmth of his breath seeps into the cold skin of my face and neck. I try to turn my head toward him, craving his warmth. It feels so heavenly.  Perhaps that is where I am; my own purgatory, searching for warmth and unable to find it for all eternity. Forever damned.

He wipes my wet hair from my bloodied face and I hear his sharp inhale. The cut. I forgot all about the bastard cutting my face up.

_Oh god, my face is split in two isn’t it?_

 My stomach feels like it is in mid wash cycle and I have the urge to retch. Vain thoughts flow through my mind a million miles an hour. I imagine half of my skin hanging off my skull. Flapping, like a damp flag in the rain, with every movement. I feel streams, hot and wet, slide down my face. Tears escaping onto the ground.

 “Well fuck, you’re just a lil pup.  Don’t worry kid, that blade may have fucked up your face a lil’ bit but chicks dig scars. Fucking pussy magnets”  He chuckled.   

_Is it even possible to blush right now? At least he still believes I’m a boy. Safe for now._

I feel a large, strong arm carefully work its way under my knees. Another around my back.  He lifts me up effortlessly.  I protest silently, every inch of my body hurts so bad but I am too weak to fight him.  My thigh radiates like an earthquake through my limp body; ever reminding me that I am still alive. The pain is becoming too much with each step and the world begins to fade again. 

Comfortable numbness kisses me, pulling the pain through my body and out with each breath. There is nothing I can do to escape the void now.  Darkness awaits me, pleading for me to join him.

He is lulling me to sleep.  It is such a beautiful song. Each second it inches in closer enveloping me.  

I try to focus on the present, holding onto what I can. I let my head fall on his chest.  He is solid, like a brick wall, but I can feel his heartbeat. A steady, strong, hypnotic beat that makes me feel abnormally safe for the first time since I can’t remember when. I focus on its rhythm; strong and quick.

After what feels like an eternity of walking, I feel him slow his pace. Holding on to consciousness and struggling for any detail, he stops and I feel him adjust his arm behind my back. A door is opened. He pivots and grunts as he sets me on a seat. My body slumps over and he puts my legs in gently.

My eyes flutter open and I am fairly certain that I am in a truck. I am in the back seat. I hear the door close and the light dims slightly. A few seconds later, another door opens. He gets in, closes the door and starts the engine. We pull away and the movement of the truck is too much to bare.

My lover darkness claims me at long last.


	2. Chapter 2

 “Hang in there kid. Don’t you fucking go dying on me. Would be a damn shame and a fucking waste of my time.”

The bouncing of the truck is nauseating. I feel my body drenched in sweat. The bind worn around my chest, to keep my breasts hidden, is so uncomfortable. I can’t breathe. I struggle to open my eyes, but it is impossible.

The void calls me once more. I give in and I let it take me.

I come to when I feel the truck stop. I have no idea how long we have traveled. I feel disorientated and drained. His door opens, then closes. I hear shouting but can’t make out the words. The door by my head opens, bright light washing in. I hear shuffling and moan when my body is moved.

“Careful you fucking fucks!”

_Just die already Charlie. Just let go and let it all be over._

“God damn, useless pricks.” he grumbles. He pulls me from the truck and carries me, his quick pace is jarring. I lean my head into him, placing my ear on his chest; grounding my world on his heartbeat once again. I hear a door open and I flicker my eye lids, trying to adjust my sight. He is yelling for the doc. His voice is deep and husky. It rumbles from deep within his chest. I welcome the vibrations on my cheek. 

He lays me down. I'm on something that feels soft, but firm at the same time. I smell bleach and cleanliness. The light is so bright, I close my eyes in pain. There is so much going on, I can’t keep anything straight.

That’s when I feel them grabbing for my pants. The fear is enough to wake me up to fend them off. They try batting away my hands, tell me to calm the fuck down. I take a deep breath and shout with all my strength “LEAVE MY FUCKING PANTS ON!!!”.

Silence

“Grab the scissors” I crack my eyes open to look at the old man the voice belongs to.

_Definitely a doctor._

I center on him, he has a kind face and speaks calmly and softly. He tells me he is only going to remove my pant leg so he can assess my wound.

I relax and they cut my jeans. The cool air clashes with the naked skin on my leg. I hear the handsome one whistle through his teeth.

 “Holy shit! That is fucking gross. Stitch him up doc. This kid took out two shit Claimers like a little fucking champ. I want this kid fightin for me.  You do whatever you have to, doc. That is an enthusiasm you fucking exploit. And exploit it we will. He dies and you and Lucille are gonna dance.” He clucked.

It was a smooth and deep chuckle. The kind that gives you goose bumps as it crackles across your skin like lighting. I wanted him to keep laughing. I try to clutch onto him but he is disappearing into the haze.

Something is poured onto my leg. With a guttural shriek, darkness claims me again.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Stay down and stay quiet” mom instructs me. She is holding onto the ledge, her feet braced on the wall. She pushes off and lands quietly on the balls of her feet. 

I watch mom quietly move along the side of the building, peering into each window. She looks up at me. Caught spying on her over the edge, I quickly move back. She gave me the “mom look”.

_I hate when she does that._

After a few seconds, I hazard another peek. I watch my mom, work her way silently, through the window she was able to pry open. I marvel at how incredible she is. She made no sound and soon, she was in.

I sat back down. Leaning my back against the roof ledge and I’m hidden again from the walkers. I begin thinking about mom and all we have overcome since dad was killed. I look down at my hands, shaking from hunger. I absent mindedly rub them across my stomach and work my way up to my ribs. I grimace; I can feel them sticking out. I used to always have meat on my bones, even after the outbreak, but 2 weeks running, with little to eat, is taking its toll.

Earlier that morning, starved and without having seen game for a couple days, we came across a gas station. It was out in the middle of nowhere and we chanced upon it while hunting. We hoped that the store had not been ransacked yet. Constructing a plan, we decided the best odds were to scale the building.  We figured we could gain access from the roof and having that option available upped our chances of escape, should anyone stop by. Ultimately, we were severely disheartened. We discovered that this option would; not only be unworthy of the energy spent, but it would also leave us stranded on top.

The plan fell apart when the garbage can I was standing on fell over. While mom was pulling me up, my feet slipped. The commotion brought a small herd of walkers from the forest. After pulling me up, all we could do was look at each other, both feeling defeated. We knew we needed something substantial to eat or we were not going to make it much longer.

After a while of sweating in the hot Virginia sun, mom decided it was time to take action. Looking at what was around, mom found a small, yet sturdy, Y shaped branch. I used a piece of tubing I had scavenged before; making a sling shot. Finding other oddities on the roof, I used them to shoot at the large sign on the road. This caused enough of a distraction to lure the walkers away. We had rock, paper scissored. Mom won.

It was best that mom went anyway. She had grown up spending a lot of time in the Appalachian mountains with her grandfather. She was taught how to hunt, move through the forest in complete silence, and even how to live off the land. Throughout my childhood I spent many summers with her family, learning the old ways. Even though my skills were never as good as hers; who would have thought that those summers would give me the chance I needed to survive the world falling apart. 

Bringing myself back to the present; I brush my hair from my eyes, annoyed for the millionth time that I had to cut it so short. It is constantly slipping from behind my ear. Aggravated, I want to punch something. Suddenly, I yearn for my long hair, grieving for its loss. Mom had used a knife to cut it. The decision was made after my long braid got caught when sliding under a  fence and I was nearly killed from a walker because of it. Mom also assured me that the best chance of my survival was, to make everyone we met, believe I was a young boy. 19 year old woman pretending to be a 15 year old boy, just to survive.

_Every little girl’s dream right?_

I sigh running my fingers through my hair which stops short, just at my chin on the left side. I reach into my backpack and feel around for my tiny compact mirror. Once my fingers wrap around the little circle, I pull it out. I take a deep breath and open it up to soak in my reflection.

My hair, one side slightly longer, covers part of my face. My natural part is on the right side of my head so my hair always falls toward the left. It reminds me of a rock star’s haircut. It is out of control, has a slight wave, and sticks out in random places.

My lips slightly curve upward at the thought. Mom would have never approved before the world went to shit.  The hair cut was choppy, but in all honesty, it suited my face and wasn’t so bad if I could just control it a little. I make faces at myself in the mirror; deciding the dirty, hard, pissed off look was the winner. This is the only way it could be, even remotely, believable that I am a boy. I guess the plus side is that everyone is so dead set on surviving; not many would take the time to really look at me. I just look like a young kid covered in grime and dried blood.

_I sure as shit smell like a dude though._

Looking past the layer of dirt, caked hair, sweat and dried flecks of blood; I barely recognized the young woman in the reflection. It has to have been 2 years since the world died. I was now 19.

I think.

It is hard to keep track of the days anymore. My eyes explore my face and I think of mom. The only signs of her Indian ancestry, etched in my features, is the olive color to my skin tone, my heart shaped face and thick, dark brown hair. My eyes drop from my messy hair to look at the huge, bright green eyes my dad passed onto me. Sometimes they were the color of the sea on a tropical beach; sometimes they were bold like emeralds. While mine are edged in thick long eyelashes, his were almost nonexistent. I snicker quietly, my dimples showing through the layer of dirt. I recall the memory of him teasing me; he used to say that I stole his eyelashes along with his eyes. It was one of his favorite taunts. Especially when he would chase me as a child, threatening to steal them back.

_I miss those eyes. Kind, loving, intelligent eyes._

I look at myself for some time and I wish I had something to clean my face with. I was never really a girly girl, but sometimes, more than others, I really miss being clean. I miss getting ready on a Saturday night, hair and makeup done and dressed up with heals; ready to break hearts.

I sigh and put the mirror away. Such vain thoughts should best be forgotten and locked away; along with everything else that was once good in the world.

Pulled from my trance, I hear mom whistle softly. I turn around and peer over the ledge. I set myself in position to grab her when she jumps, to help her up. I see her bag is full. Mom has a radiant smile on her lips. My expression mirrors hers. I can’t help but feel giddy that we are going to have full bellies tonight.

She jumps up and I grasp her hands. Something is wrong though, she weighs so much. Perplexed I try to tighten my grip but no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to tighten my hold. Her hands are slipping. I feel her hand pull free from mine. The world fades away and I watch my mom fall into emptiness… I scream but no noise comes out. My heart is racing and I am frozen in place, unable to move or make a sound.

The void closes in.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am trapped in the shadow but I can hear something. Footsteps, movement, metal colliding on metal, hushed voices, water running.  I try to focus but it fades in and out.

“How is our little bad ass doing, doc?”

There was that voice again. I love hearing him speak. His voice pulls me, beckons to me from the fog. I try to search for him, but I can’t break through this damn veil. It is infuriating.

“The cut on his leg was deep, fortunately for him, it missed his artery. I stitched him up and have it bandaged. It should not pose any severe, permanent, damage. It will take some time to heal. His muscles will need to be exercised and stretched, but ultimately he will recover.  His only other injury, that I could see, is the cut on his face. I did my best to stitch that up so the scar was not unnecessarily disfiguring. He won’t let me remove his clothes; I thought best not to upset him. If you could take a look at this, it could explain why he refuses to let me remove his clothing and check him thoroughly.”

He concluded his assessment and I feel warm hands on my leg. I feel someone turning it slightly at my knee. Realization hits.

_They found it. Oh no, they found it._

The mark the claimers honored me with; a “C” carved crudely into the soft flesh of my inner thigh. A brand, telling anyone who tried to touch me that I was claimed. I want to cry but find it impossible. I am so weary and feel hopeless.

 _No one is supposed to see that_.

I move my leg and the doc lets go. Fire from the wound courses up into my stomach. There to greet the pain is sadness, anger… shame.

“Those fucking sons of fucking piece of shit bitches. Leave the kid. He’s probably all shades of fucked up. Who knows what the those fucking fuckers did to him.”

“I cleaned him to the best of my abilities but it is up to him to pull through the fever and fight off the infection. He can get the rest of him cleaned up on his own, when he wakes up. However, he may need to be placed in an ice bath should his fever rise too high. We should know within the next 24 to 72 hours or so. Negan, sir, as you know we need this bed for other patients. This kid will need somewhere else to recover. Preferably somewhere he can be watched for infection. Are there any available rooms where he can be monitored?”

“Well fuck doc, I don’t want him in the common rooms.”

Silence

“Oh for fucks sake, I’m feelin like a fucking saint today, doc. Have the bastard brought to the extra room on the wives’ floor. The girls will show you. He can shack up with the ladies. Will think he died and gone to fucking heaven when the little shit wakes up.” He chuckles. “No chances though doc, make sure the kid is locked to the bed and the door bolted. Don’t want him gettin out and startin shit. I would hate to bash his little skull in.”

I hear his steps near. Heavy confident steps.

 “Fucking shit doc, he’s a good lookin kid. Gonna be a son of a bitch when we get some meat on him and his balls drop. Right now he’s too small and skinny. Looks like a chick.”

Hmm. “Almost too much like a chick. Shit, I think he’s makin my dick confused.” He laughed.

I couldn’t help but feel the heat rise from deep in my stomach. I can feel the warmth from his breath on my cheeks. I can smell a slight hint of whiskey along with leather. There was another smell, like subtle cologne; very masculine and earthy. In my mind I reach for him, but there is nothing to grasp onto. I call for him but my voice is silent. I feel the darkness creeping in again. It wraps its arms around me and drags me back into the pit of numbness.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Where the FUCK are they hiding? I know you hid your whores.” He turns to his buddy, “They can’t be too far.”

I can see the spit flying from the bastard’s mouth as he screams at my dad, just inches away from his nose. My dad keeps his look steady, unrelenting. After a couple seconds of silence the man cocks back and hits my dad with the butt of his ax. I hear a loud crack and watch my dad’s head whip back. The backside of his head hitting his spine. When he brings his head back up I see the side of his face caved in. There is a purple tint flooding in and blood starting to drain out of various places. I draw a large breath, ready to scream, but my mom’s hand quickly covers my mouth, keeping me in check. I felt the rage building, coursing through my body like a pressure cooker.

I watch my dad slowly crumble to the ground.

The monster repeatedly kicks him in the stomach. I stare in horror as my dad’s entire body moves with each kick. The beating went on for, what feels like hours, but was surely only a moment. My dad, my hero, has always been so strong; to see him lifeless was a blow. I feel sick with uselessness as they beat him. I yearn to help him. I will him to stand up, but he just lays there, un-moving. My mom has me wrapped in her arms; I feel her shaking. I side glance a look and see the tears rolling down her face. This was killing her too.

After having been captive for 2 months, my dad was paying the price of our freedom. While the men were in a drunken stupor, my father freed mom and I from our ties and pushed two of the men’s backpacks in our hands. He had silently pointed for us to run and not look back. If it wasn’t for me, mom, the forever devoted wife, would have stayed with him.

We had to leave him behind because when we were first caught, they broke dad’s leg to cripple him. This was to weaken him and eliminate any prospect to escape. It never healed right; his limp was permanent. It was still painful and caused him to move slowly from the slight twist from the shin down.

During our time in captivity, these cowards had abused my mom nearly every day. Sometimes they passed her around to their pals. It was always done while my dad was forced to watch. Each time breaking him more and more. He would offer himself in place of my mom. Sometimes it would work, sometimes they would just rape them both. He hated that he was so powerless to stop them. While I escaped the brutality of their rapes, I was still beaten and humiliated when they would get bored. They loved to strip me naked and throw me around. Sometimes it would end with one holding me down while the other jerked off onto me.

Then they would switch.

The worst was when they would fuck my mom’s or dad’s mouth with a gun held to my head, ensuring they behaved and did a good job. It still makes my skin crawl. I feel that I will never be clean. Why they left my virginity intact, I will never know for certain. Their reasoning was that they were saving me as a prize for some OTHER psycho. Their plan was to offer me as a token should he one day find them and want to collect a tribute. Their hope was that he would give them a hefty break. I am thankful I never had to meet the bastard. My stomach churned just thinking about it.

Watching the horror through the leaves; I feel my legs getting weak as I straddle the branch high up in the tree my mom and I are hidden in. We watch my dad slowly slip away. My mom holds me tight and we silently cry, knowing he is gone. Despite that fact, the beating continues; his body doesn’t even look human anymore. I wish I could kill them now. I don’t because I know I would not last long, they are armed to the teeth. We were fortunate that dad was able to get us my holsters and knives, my mother’s bow and one of dad’s guns. If I went in now it would all be for nothing. Besides, mom is really weak. The daily assaults have done things to her body and I need to keep her safe now. I clench my teeth and swear that one day I will find them. I have spent the last 2 months memorizing their faces. I will never forget and they will pay heavily.

My leg begins to hurt. There is a pain in my left thigh.

_Damn this uncomfortable tree._

I try to move my body to better adjust myself but moving my leg causes a horrific throbbing to radiate from my thigh. Confusion sets in when I look down and don’t see a wound to explain the pain. I look up at mom. My mom looks back at me, wide eyed. Her beautiful face fading into black. Suddenly, I feel myself falling from the branch. I reach up to grab her, but she disappears completely.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic! I started working up the outline to this story about a year ago. I have hesitated sharing due to a lack of courage. I have been afraid it would not be well received due to its dark nature. Over the last year I have loved reading all of the stories on this site. Each of you have been an inspiration to my self-confidence and I am thankful that I am among like minded peers. =]


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